


Blow Out

by Blurhawaii



Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurhawaii/pseuds/Blurhawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He opens his arms wide, inviting, and tries not to think about how badly he wants those hands on him; that he has to resort to things like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow Out

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this and if other people don't start writing more soon, I'm going to have to continue.

He’s taking the lonely second to last bend when it happens.

Lauda’s ahead, only just, but Hunt is desperate to slip in front. It doesn’t matter that it’s a practice session, he wants to win. He mostly manages it but in his haste, he fails to notice just how close they are on the track. When his tire inexplicably blows and he leans into the skid, Lauda is helpless against following the motion. It’s either that or he takes out the rear of the other machine.

In the end, there’s no horrific crash; they’re too quick and skilled at this that given the right warning, with enough time, they can avoid the worst. Instead they kick up a lot of grass and dirt with the barest amount of smoke before stilling alongside the barriers.

After a steadying breath, James starts the arduous task of clambering out of the car. With his helmet on his range is limited and he can’t see how well Niki has fared behind him. It can’t be too bad, the guy’s made of stronger stuff than most, but James still can’t get free fast enough.

He gets his long legs touching the ground and Niki is already out, glowering at him with his helmet tucked under his arm. His face is flushed but that doesn’t necessarily have to be because of anger. The main thing is that he’s unharmed. James doesn’t have to feel guilty.

He’s pointing a warning finger in James’ direction and when he talks, the accent comes out thick.

“If you took better care of your vehicles,” he says, “you wouldn’t skid out of every race. And you wouldn’t put me and every other driver here in danger.”

James ignores the jab at his driving and shrugs at the rest. “The tire blew; you can’t blame me for that.”

Niki huffs in answer, mumbling something about driving like a maniac, and jams both of his hands under his armpits. He turns his back on James to run an assessing eye over his car. He’d be angrier is there was actually any damage done.

The papers will say differently, of course, and it won’t be long before the cameras come and seek them out. Although he would have thought, rather bitterly, that his spinning off the track would be old news at this point. But a crash is a crash, he supposes, and they’re going to love it when they find him and Niki at the centre of it.

He can still feel the vibrations of the engine in his hands and he’s going to blame the leftover adrenaline, coupled with the sight of Niki’s fingers carefully running over the chassis of his car, for the idea that sparks in his head.

James steps towards him, stopping just shy of touching distance and poses.

“Hey,” he says, jutting out his chin. “Punch me.”

Niki’s gaze snaps to his and the urge is certainly there, as it so often is with them, but once the confusion passes Niki only meets his manic grin with a scowl, keeping well enough away.

Over his hunched shoulders, James can see the staccato flash of the cameras making their way over, thirsting for blood. Unfortunately for them, they’ve come out of this relatively unharmed.

In the silence, Niki shifts his weight onto his other foot and winces as the movement puts pressure on his ribs. He probably pulled something during the skid. James’ smile dims fractionally.

He opens his arms wide, inviting, and tries not to think about how badly he wants those hands on him; that he has to resort to things like this.

“Come on. They’ll eat it up. ‘Punch up in the pits’,” he throws out, not caring that it’s factually incorrect.

Stripping his gloves off with quick, efficient strokes, Niki shakes his head. “You’re insane.”

James shrugs. “It’s what they’re expecting,” he says, and it’s mostly true. Tales of their rivalry have been blown so out of proportion that they both can usually get a laugh from it.

Niki’s having none of it though, and the media hounds are close enough to be snapping pictures left and right.

“I would rather save the beating to the races,” Niki offers instead and he eyes James critically for a second, something unsure in his expression. His hand comes up to gesture at his lip and James instinctively mirrors the action. “It seems you don’t need my help with messing up your face anyway.”

James’ hand comes back wet with blood from a split lip that only gets worse when he grins rakishly. “Kiss it better?” he laughs, in the midst of flashing camera bulbs, and Niki’s eyes narrow before he pointedly bypasses James altogether and heads back towards the pits.

The smile James aims at Niki’s retreating back is something the headlines have a hard time explaining.


End file.
